


You picked the constellations off the ground (let’s return them to the sky)

by borntomkehistory



Category: South Park
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Stan and Craig become friends, slight angst, sometimes you just need a hug and a cry, with a slight romance forming between them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borntomkehistory/pseuds/borntomkehistory
Summary: When an earthquake destroys the house, sometimes it takes two unlikely people to work together to help rebuild the foundation.Craig Tucker can make new friends after all.





	You picked the constellations off the ground (let’s return them to the sky)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Friends! 
> 
> If I'm being honest, I wanted to try something new and experiment with new (temporary) relationships. 
> 
> Let's see where this goes. 
> 
> Tumblr: magicalcreeks
> 
> Chapter Song: Drifting Away by Khai Dreams

 

...

  
“W-We need to end this, Craig. I can’t do this anymore... we can still be...”

With those words, the party quickly came to an end for Craig. He looked the twitchy boy in the eye for the last time with a blank face, noticing the nervous sweat inching down his cheek.

“Excuse me,” Craig did not want to give Tweek the luxury of a proper goodbye. Instead, he sat his canned beer on the table next to them, then he turned away before the dam could break.

His chest felt as if there was a weight resting on top of it. He couldn’t breathe properly. Craig pushed himself through the crowd of sweaty, drunk bodies squeezing inside of Clyde’s house.

Craig, could no longer hear the music over his ringing ears. Somehow he managed to open the sliding door to the backyard, the cool air of the night blowing onto his skin. If only it was raining.

“Fuck...” he swore to himself. _Fuck_ , he said a little louder until his body was consumed by an ironic fit of laughter.

“Fuck,” then he dropped his body onto the cement porch, hoping Tweek would not come searching for him. The ending of a fake relationship should not hurt as much as it does, but for some reason, it pained him more than his break up with his girlfriend back in elementary school.

It was to be expected. Holding hands, the hugs, the kisses, even when they cuddled against one another while they played video games in Token’s basement, it was all for show. Tweek was an actor, which was why he was the president of the drama club. No one should fall in love with an actor. They will never know what’s real or not.

Craig lifted his hand to touch his face, _we can still be friends_ , was what Tweek was going to say because he was too nice for his own good. The likelihood of them ever being friends again was slim to none, and that’s what scared Craig the most.

“Yeah, well, _fuck_ you, Kyle!” A familiar voice slurred. Craig twisted his body around to see what all of the commotion was.

“You’re fucking drunk, stan!” Kyle was fuming with his hands balled into trembling fists at his sides. He grew to a staggering 6’0, even towering over Craig who was the tallest kid in his grade at one point. Seeing him so mad at Stan looked scarier with the height difference between them.

This could get ugly.

“I’m not drunk,” Stan swatted a hand at Kyle who grabbed onto his wrist to keep him from stumbling over, “Let go of me!” He tried to pull his arm back but when he realized he was stuck he sunk his teeth into Kyle’s hand.

“Ouch, you fucking-!“ It took everything within Kyle to refrain from punching him in the face. Stan was a terrible drunk with a drinking problem. He was tired of dealing with his antics every time a drop of alcohol touched his lips. Kyle rubbed the stinging area on his hand, his eyes falling on Craig where he realized he was there to watch the scene between them.

“You take care of him, dick,” he gave Craig an icy glare before turning his back on his _supposed_ best friend. Before Craig could attest the door was slid shut.

Now it was only him and Stan sharing the open space outside. Craig listened to the honking horns, obnoxious laughter, and the disgusting gurgling sounds coming from Stan. This was all happening too fast. he could barely register the fake relationship that had just ended with his boyfriend— or his _fake_ ex-boyfriend— now he had to babysit a 17-year-old.

“He’s such an asshole,” Stan said, still throwing up middle fingers to the closed door, Craig groaned.

“You look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk, Marsh.”

So maybe they were both going through a lot of shit, that didn’t mean Craig wanted to talk about it.

“Can you believe this guy?”

Craig dropped his head into his knees. He really did not feel like talking, his plan was to stay here until the party was over, or until Tweek left.

Stan nearly fell on his ass trying to lower himself on the spot next to Craig. He almost did until Craig caught him by the elbow, him grunting to push Stan off of him when he toppled into his lap.

“You really are drunk,” any other time he would have made a snarky comment, especially if it was towards Stan. He felt bad for the kid. Stan’s eyes were bloodshot and glossed over, not to mention he smelled like a bar mixed with whatever illegal substances Kenny brought with him. Craig moved away the hair sticking on his sweaty forehead.

“Wow, dude, your hands are like, really soft...”

“Stop talking,” Craig was feeling for his temperature. he’s seen his mom do this a handful of times when his dad came home hammered after a long night of drinking  

“Y’know, my mom always does this when she catches me drinking.”

“You look much smarter when you don’t talk.”

Stan’s lips lowered into a small frown, his flushed cheeks giving him the appearance of looking much smaller than he actually is. Craig removed his hand from his head, then snorted when he watched as Stan’s head dropped unexpectedly.

“You must drink a lot if your mom is catching you.”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He slurred. His head felt cloudy, there was an aching throb behind his eyes, “it’s all Kyle’s fault...” then he laid his head on Craig’s shoulder, closing his eyes to settle his stomach.

“He’s just... such an asshole... why won’t he notice me?” Stan murmured.

Craig shifted in his spot, then he gave his sleeve a tug. This was awkward. He prayed Stan wouldn’t start crying on him, “it helps to talk about it, I guess,” he suggested, desperate to take his mind off of Tweek.

“You know,” Stan lifted his head, their faces only inches apart, “You’re not so bad. Even when we fought when we were kids I always thought you were pretty cool.”

Lacking the proper response, Craig looked straight ahead at the fence stretching to the opposite end of the sidewalk. He could see the long-faded chalk drawings, from childhood, still scattered on each individual picket. Token and Tweek were always in charge of making the drawings because Clyde, Jimmy, and Himself could not draw for shit. Craig told Clyde to get rid of it, but Clyde insisted all the remnants, such as, the old deteriorate treehouse, the planks they buried deep in the soil, and the strings going from each side of the fence were all keepsakes.

Craig was convinced Clyde was a hoarder, or just really fucking lazy.

“I don’t feel so good...” in the midst of Craig’s nostalgia, he failed to notice the green tint Stan had taken on.

Stan pushed himself away to face the patch of grass beside them, he clenched onto his sides as he stinging bile came spilling from his mouth. Craig could not help but be disgusted by the sight in front of him, he couldn’t stand himself, nevertheless, stand to watch other people puke their brains out. Even so, he was there by Stan’s side, offering soothing circular motions on the middle of his back. You idiot, he said to himself, feeling the painful jolts through touching his back.

“Clyde is going to be pissed,” his joke fell flat. What he thought was a failed attempt to lighten to mood actually got a chuckle out of Stan.

His face was a pasty white and drenched with sweat, “at least you don’t look green anymore,” he said. Craig thought about standing up to get him a glass of water or something.

“You really are a dick,” he rubbed his throat, his hoarse words feeling as if it was traveling through a tunnel of sandpaper.

“You’re going to get dehydrated, idiot.”

“I just...” Stan fell back to lay his upper body on the cool concrete, he took a minute to absorb the thumping beats of the music indoors rocking his body, “I don’t want to think,” he bleached through another vurp, the crash of the alcohol coursing through his system setting in.

 _You and me both,_ Craig thought, his brooding green eyes staring over at him, “and I don’t want to be responsible for you dying.”

Very soft, but audible snores came from Stan’s open mouth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Craig said to himself. This was the night that kept on giving, well, at least you didn’t have to worry about him running down the sidewalk naked like a certain someone he knew— Clyde.

Craig leaned back on his elbows holding up his body weight, again, he sighed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. Secretly he was disappointed Tweek hadn’t come out to find him, to say he was playing a prank dared by one of the guys who wanted to fuck with him. With breakups he’s witnessed, there were always heated with one couple yelling at the other or vice versa. The strange thing was he did not feel any resentment towards Tweek— his heart was fucking hurting, but at the end of the day, he wanted him to be happy. God only knows he deserves it.

He closed his eyes. That was when he finally succumbed to the boiling emotions within him, he needed a good cry and possibly a nap. Craig mimicked Stan’s position. He laid back on the porch, opening his eyes again to stare at the night sky above them. He felt a prickling in the back of his eyes then loose mucus falling to the back of his throat.

His forearm acted as a blanket to cover his eyes from the world around him.

Yeah, he didn’t want to think either.

...

 

The following day at school, Craig was sitting at his usual lunch table. Every day he would pick the cucumbers out of his sandwich while listening to Token and Clyde bicker about something they saw on TV.

Today wasn’t one of those days, “it feels like a nutcracker is trying to break into my skull,” Clyde whined, flinching at the light tap of his tray touching the lunch table. He took his seat between Token and Jimmy who silently agreed. Their head was in their hands, Token looked about ready to fall over.

Craig could not help but to roll his eyes at his expense, Clyde was a lightweight, they all were. Which is why when Craig was in the mood to get piss drunk he will only do it in the comfort of his house where he can go to bed when his head started to buzz a little too loud.

“That party was awesome, though,” said Token, drinking from his thermos he brought from home that smelled strongly of a homemade hangover remedy.

“H-H-He-Hear, Hear,” Jimmy agreed, trying to relive the long night of motorboating _college_ girls. How Clyde convinced college girls to come to his party was beyond him. Ladies dug a man with a sense of humor.

Craig picked out one of the cucumbers from his sandwich, feeling it was right to eat one today instead of leaving it in the aluminum foil.

“Doesn’t Tweek usually eat your cucumbers? Or should I say _cucumber_ , if you know what I mean,” Clyde proudly wiggles his brows before regretting his action, wincing, His hungover was still strong.

“Choke,” Craig told him.

No one heard about their break up yet, and Craig could only imagine how everyone will react when they do find out. He was not looking forward to being made out to be the cheater like when they staged his fake break up. He was also not looking forward to the awkward lunches with him and the guys. They may have ‘broken’ up but the guys were friends with both himself and Tweek. If things got too awkward then Craig would gladly leave, temporarily, for the sake of keeping things cordial.

When Craig finally went home last night everything felt like a dream, even up to the part where he practically carried Stan to his house on his back. The kid was heavier than he looked, then they had to stop a couple of times for him to empty his stomach in a nearby bush— how he still had stomach bile to throw up was beyond him. Luckily Stan did not live too far from Clyde. He even insisted on Craig helping him up the tree so he could sneak into his bedroom without waking up his parents. hoisting someone heavier than himself up a tree branch and making sure he did not break his neck was not fun for him.

“W-Where is T-T-Tweek?” Jimmy asked the table, though, his question was aimed more towards Craig who always knew where he was, “I-I wanted him t-to h-h-he-hear my new joke.”

Jimmy was currently rehearsing a new act for his gig down at the retirement home. Tweek was the only one who found his jokes funny, so he was the person Jimmy went to make sure he was hitting the right punchlines.

“You’re quiet today,” Clyde noticed, the balance of the table feeling off without their missing body and Craig’s remarks.

“I haven’t seen him,” Craig ignored his comment, the fizz of his soda sizzling in his mouth.

“Oh look, there he is,” Token pointed out, his hand waving in the air to get Tweeks attention.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I forgot my textbook,” Craig lied, crumbling the aluminum foil in his hands with half of his sandwich still in it.

Just as he was stepping over the bench, he nearly knocked into Tweek, the blonde holding up his hands and offering a nervous laugh.

Fuck, _Fuck,_ Craig gulped, “Hey,” he said as coolly as he could, adding in a nonchalant shrug.

“H-Hey, Craig...”

Tweek did not know what else to say, but it looked like he was coping much better than Craig was. He was wearing his hair the way Craig likes it, with a thin black headband holding his bangs back so he could see his eyes; a bright blue with a slight heterochromia in the center. Like water and earth, Craig would say, he always said while the water peacefully traveled there were moments it would crash into the shore. Tweek had the earth to keep him grounded during those moments.

“What’s going on here?” Clyde was at it again with his unnecessary commentary, if only that stupid smirk on his face knew the truth.

Craig excused himself, this being the second time he was running away from his issues. There wasn’t enough inner monologue in the world that could prepare him for the feelings he got being near Tweek.

They were going to have to talk eventually. Just not now.

He tossed the crushed ball into the garbage pail near the exits of the cafeteria.

He had no idea where he was going to go from here so he walked until he reached one of the many exits leading to the back of the school. Some fresh air would be nice, especially with the anxiety he felt.

Pushing open the door, what he hadn’t expected was dreary music along with a thick scent of burning nicotine.

“Life will eat you up and spit you out, just like those fucking conformist in there with their fake smiles and preppy attitudes,” a goth girl lifted a long, black cigarette holder to her purple painted lips. Henrietta was her name, Craig surprisingly remembered from those times when she participated in their games as kids.

Her choppy black hair rested on the back of her neck, with one hand stationed on her long, mesh black dress exposing her tattered stockings. Taking another puff of her cigarette, she held onto her disgusted grimace as she continued talking to the body next to her.

“Yeah, totally,” a male voice responded.

“Stan?” Craig made himself known by letting the steel door close behind him. It was Stan since when was he cool with the goth kids? He stepped forward to see Stan’s face ghosted over with horror.

“Craig, what are you doing here?”

Henrietta took a hint, not wanting to be around whatever love fest was happening before her eyes, “see you later, stan,” she spoke kindly to him while stubbing out her cigarette, “conformist,” she scoffed at Craig, leaving the two be by going through the cracked door.

“What are you doing out here, man?”

It was strange hearing Stan talk when he was sober. He put on a tough guy act which annoyed Craig, taking on the same douchey persona he would call Clyde out for. Well, he wasn’t in the mood to argue, but it was good to see Stan make it out of his drunken haze alive.

Craig leaned his head against the brick wall, ignoring Stan’s eyeing glare.

“You need a smoke?” Stan offered.

Craig hated everything about smoking. Two of his relatives died from lung cancer, another has to use an electrolarynx after getting Laryngeal and surviving. That was enough to scare Craig away from the idea of ever touching a cigarette.

“I don’t smoke,” he said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets to warm them up.

“I don’t really either, but,” Stan shrugged, “I guess I’m a social smoker.”

A silence fell between them, this one awkward with both parties being fully aware of their respective motor functions. Craig didn’t mind. He always welcomed the silence.

“Thanks for helping me last night,” Stan finally spoke up after an excruciating two minutes of silence. He flicked the cigarette bud towards the asphalt.

“So you remember.”

“I mean, how can I not remember someone pushing against my ass.”

Craig opened his eyes then panned his head to the left, “you wanted to go through your window, asshole.”

Pfft, Stan snubbed a laugh, his joke going over Craig’s head, “yeah, I guess I did. Thanks again.”

“I hope your mom wasn’t too worried.”

“Wh- What all did I say last night?” He flushed, a hand racking through the back of his unwashed hair. Kyle always said he tends to word vomit when intoxicated.

“For one thing, you told me I have soft hands.”

“Oh god,” Stan was so embarrassed he could drop dead right there. Did he really say that to Craig Tucker of all people?

“Then you told me how you mom catches you drinking. I’ve heard worst so don’t feel special.”

“Did I really say you have soft hands?” He groaned through his hands, peaking through his split fingers.

Craig snorted, “is that really all you’re worried about?”

“I mean, _yeah_ , you’re a _dude._ ”

“That’s a closed minded attitude coming from you,” Craig wished he had taken him up on that smoking offer, even if it went against everything he believed in, he tends to deal with his problems in self-destructive ways.

Stan realized that may have come out the wrong way. He’s not a homophobe. Hoping he did not offend Craig he offered an apology, “you never answered my question,” he changed the topic with a sly smirk gracing his lips.

Oh? Craig shifted his body up the wall, the back of his heels going numb from the pressure, “the question was...?”

“Really?” Stan rolled his eyes, knowing damn well Craig was doing this to be a dick, “what the hell are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“No- what? No! Dude, you can’t answer my question with a question,” he protested, his lower lip poking out like a child getting ready to throw a tantrum. If Craig was going to dance around his question, well then they might as well just stand there in silence until one of them speaks or leave. Stan had a feeling that was probably what Craig wanted. The competitor in him could not let him win.

Craig’s plan was to keep evading the question until Stan eventually tired. He did not want to tell him he was here to get away from Tweek— the longer he could keep their ‘breakup’ under wraps the better. The wound was still fresh and it was common knowledge to never open an old wound. That’s how infection happens.

The glint in Stan’s eye said otherwise, he stared at Craig with his icy blue eyes to make him uncomfortable. It’s what he and his sister use to do whenever they lied. Staring just made people uncomfortable.

Time was passing between them, at this rate Stan could get better results watching a rock. Craig was not budging. He knew Stan’s strategy, he had a sibling too.

“C’mon, you’re like, immune,” Stan hunched over his back in disbelief, “just tell me and I will never talk to you again.”

Now Craig was interested. To never talk to Marsh again... “I’m holding you to that,” he warned, removing his hands from his pocket along with a leftover wrapping paper.

“Yeah, Whatever, just tell me.”

“I’m avoiding someone, okay?” He tore off small pieces on the paper, watching as the wind lifted it away.

_“Who?”_

Gosh, Marsh was annoying, “you said you would never talk to me again,” Craig retorted, still ripping apart the wrapper between his fingers.

Stan lifted a finger to his chin, “if I remember correctly,” and he did, even with the fuzzy thoughts from the party he recalled some things, “someone told me that, _it helps to talk about it,_ ” that glint in his eyes further twinkling.

“I’m starting to think you weren’t really drunk last night,” Craig commented, side-eyeing the watch on his wrist to check for the time. His class started in less than two minutes, then he looked at Stan with his eyes blown up to a comical size; he could skip this class just once.

Covering his watch with his opposing hand, “I’m avoiding Tweek.”

“Oh...” why did he sound so disappointed? Stan slid down on the wall to sit on his bottom, reaching for his iPod leaning on a rusted tin can. He shuffled through songs for a few minutes until he settled on one he was pleased with, a grin stretching across his lips.

Craig wasn’t sure if he should tell him he shuffled back to the same song. He probably knew.

“That sucks. Are you guys in a fight or something?”

“We broke up,” the chain hanging next to him rattled as his head burrowed deeper into the garage door, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You guys were _seriously_ dating?”

“Really?” Another sigh escaped his lips. To him, it felt like they were seriously dating.

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know what the guys thought but the two of you dating happened so fast, I was sort of confused for a while... that sucks that you two broke up. Sorry, man.”

Craig’s mouth was pressed into a paper thin line, “Yeah,” for some reason he trusted Stan to keep his mouth shut.

“Do you and Kyle always fight like that?”

Stan froze, his stare training on a trail of ants traveling in front of him, “we haven’t been getting along lately,” he said dryly, he hadn’t expected such a question directed towards him. His friendship with Kyle was a sore spot.

“He’s busy with his own life, ya know? Co-captain of the basketball team, he’s studying for his SAT and ACTs... He doesn’t have time to focus on our friendship, I guess.”

Stan avoided looking up, his hands fiddling with his tattered shoelaces on his worn white sneakers. He and Kyle haven’t spoken for a week prior to last nights party. His messages went unread on Instagram and Snapchat, and what delivered the final blow was the picture he updated on his story. It was a video of him at the bowling alley with Kenny, Cartman, and Butters— They didn’t even _like_ Cartman.

No one wanted to hang around someone who constantly dampened their good time. Stan shook his head then chuckled, earning an eye from Craig who he forgot was still there, he was so unlovable.

“Hey,” Craig got his attention, “you want to know what else you said to me?”

“What?” He rubbed at his eyes, though his cheeks and nose had already flushed over to a pale pink.

“You said I was pretty cool.”

“No, I didn’t, you’re lying, you’re the lamest person I met.”

“You said I was pretty cool,” Craig repeated, standing up straight so his weight distributed evenly on the soles of his feet. He saw Stan was traveling to a dark place. Avoiding the problem wasn’t always bad.

“The only way I can know you’re cool is if we hang out more,” Stan offered, coughing to conceal the crack in his voice. Weak, he thought, so weak.

“Are you asking me on a date, Marsh? Can’t you see I’m vulnerable with a broken heart?” His sarcasm went appreciated, though there was a hint of sadness in his words. They both needed a pick me, Stan did not want to go straight home tonight, and neither did Craig. Perhaps if they could escape their harsh realities, even if it was for a few short hours, it could help them.

“Let’s skip.”

“And go where?”

“I don’t know, but we could help each other. c’mon, unless you’re a pussy.”

Craig flipped him off, which did not phase Stan or anyone in the grade because they were used to his rude gestures by now. Skipping school wasn’t a bad idea, as long as his idea of skipping didn’t involve them getting in trouble with the law or burning a building down.

He watched as Stan took the lead, an ember of curiously burning in the pit of his stomach at the idea of his and Stan hanging out, or, even having a lick of fun without either of them clawing at each other throats, participating in the competitive rivalry of both their gangs. There were things Craig did not know about the other by looking at the surface and making his own assumptions, he was like a pile of rope tied in a dozen knots.

As he followed his lead to the gate of the school, Craig wondered how they could help each other.

Something in him wanted to know more.

...

 

 **Clyde [2:34 pm]:** dude, where the fuck r u?

 

 **Clyde [2:34 pm]:** we need 2 talk

 

 **Clyde [2:35 pm]:** answer ur phone

 

 **Token: [2:37 pm]:** listen, if you need someone to talk to we’re here for you, man

 

Craig watched the flood of messages come in on his phone, his fingers unable to type back due to the grease of his pizza. He swallowed the food in his mouth, then set the slice on his napkin.

He and Stan have been sitting in a secluded booth at the back of the arcade, both of their ears drowning in the distorted mixture of the dates sound system playing music from the radio and the animatronics performing a scheduled act for the empty dining room. The pizza was shit. At least they got it for free because when they walked in the waiter was close to throwing it away, the table didn’t order a third pie, the frantic waiter explained after shoving the pie into Stan’s arms.

Here they were again. Stan had his legs on his seat with one knee up, his pinky finger digging in his ear as he started off at the show in front of them.

“Well, are you going to answer them?” Stan questioned without taking his attention away. He just knew it was Craig’s friends looking for him, let’s just say he has experience cutting himself off from the world.

“No.”

Craig wanted a moment before asking his question, “how often do you come here?” Upon walking in he had noticed the looks coming from the workers, someone even shooting a quick, hey, before going back to their jobs. He was beginning to think the pizza wasn’t a coincidence.

Stan held his cup of Dr. Pepper up to his lips, “not often,” he shrugged, his finger scratching at his denim pants.

They were interrupted by a plate of cupcakes placed in front of them, _happy birthday_ , they read in fluorescent red writing with a ridiculous amount of sprinkles covering the white frosting. The waitress offered them a kind smile before leaving to clean up a nearby table.

Craig raised a brow, “not often, huh?” Though his interest was on the birthday he did not know about.

“It’s not a big deal,” Stan scoffed with his face falling solemn, lacking a reason to care about his birthday. Another year closer to death, woo-hoo.

“Hey, where are you going? Don’t make a big deal over this,” he called out to Craig who slid out of the booth to do god knows what. Stan tilted his head back to catch a glance at the spinning holographic party streamers hanging above them.

“Put this on.”

“Dude, no.”

Craig held out a party hat, courtesy of the front desk who only had ones decorated with pastel butterflies. Craig was wearing his already, even though he looked ridiculous with it resting on top of his hat.

“Put it on or I’m going to put it on myself,” he was trying to be nice, okay? Leave it to Marsh to make him regret that decision.

Eventually, Stan gave in, grabbing the hat then stretching the elastic band around his head, with a snap it squeezed onto his chin. Pfft, Craig finding amusement on the look on Stan’s face.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Stan protested, reaching for a cupcake.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are. It’s freaking me out, you always laugh around Tweek.”

He hummed in thought, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You did, like, _a lot._ Do you remember when we were all over at Cartman’s house?”

“Yeah, where are you going with this?”

Stan smiled a dreamy smile, his chin falling into his hand, “You were laughing the whole night, we all thought you were possessed.”

“People laugh, what’s your point?” Craig, unsure of where Stan was going with this. So he laughed at Tweek’s shitty jokes around shitty people, was he not allowed?

“He makes you really happy, that’s all,” he took a messy bite of his cupcake, the frosting getting on his nose with crumbs falling onto the table.

“That could be said about you and Kyle.”

“Yeah, well... where do you want to go after this?”

“What, there’s more?”

Stan raised his hand, his mouth still stuffed with cupcake he said, “di’ you th’nk this was...” he swallowed, “did you think this was all we were doing?”

“Are you kidnapping me?” Craig raised a question.

“It’s not kidnapping if you like it.”

“Who the hell likes getting kidnapped? But whatever, where are we going now?”

Their ditch day was still in effect, even though school for them ended less than an hour ago. They risked running into their friends, but who the hell came to this place anyway? The was the first time Craig stepped foot in this building in almost seven years when he was invited to Stan’s birthday celebration.

Wherever they were headed to next, Stan was eager to get there. They still had daylight with the changing seasons causing the sun to set much quicker than before; so with that logic, they had two more hours of daylight which could translate to two more hours of them ‘hanging’ out before either of their parents got worried.

Grabbing for his book bag making quiet clinking noises, Craig assumed their endeavor may result in them making an array of poor choices.

“Oh, right, take the cupcakes,” Stan instructed, not watching to leave perfectly made pastries behind. Earlier today he did not wake up with the intent to celebrate his birthday because he did not want another depressing year alone, now he had an excuse to get high on sugar and drunk from liquor.

“I’m not taking the fucking cupcakes,” where the hell did he expect him to put cupcakes? Craig felt his jacket, then opened his pocket wide.

“Don’t say a word,” he said.

...

 

Blue skies transitioned to an ombré creation of pink and orange, the horizon hosting a thin line of red which Craig could see from their high position on top of an abandoned train car.

South Park hasn’t used this old train line in years. Over time it slowly transformed into an area where teens could experiment with drugs, have thoughtless sex, and sometimes where the vampire kids hosted their night long raves. He wondered what use Stan had with a place like this. At least the view was nice.

Stan was busy cracking open the lid to the small bottle he carried with his teeth, spitting it out under them, then hearing it bounce on the field of rocks, “want some?” He offered the bottle to Craig. Guests first.

“No thanks,” he declined, not much in the mood to drink. His palms were digging into pieces of rust on top of the car.

“Suit yourself,” said Stan, wiping the dripping alcohol from his lips than sighing. It was always the buzzing feeling that calmed him, then the warmth that came after it; never about taste or flavor, it was all about the feeling. That’s why he drank.

“You don’t talk much do you?” His tongue has begun to loosen under the influence, “not that I’m surprised, you were always the quiet one.”

“Why did you take me here?” Craig trained his eyes on the party hat now sitting in his lap. He analyzed the finger dents left from taking it off. He wasn’t going to tell Stan that he was still wearing his.

“There’s no one here,” Stan observed, stretching his hands out to justify his point. They were alone, and far, far away from everyone else.

Craig’s phone was still going off from before. His guess was Clyde had formed an unsuccessful search party. He should text him back, but... “yeah, no shit.”

“I come here to scream, sometimes cry, but mostly to scream. You have a lot of shit going on so I figured you want to try. I’ll go first...”

Stan cleared his throat, Craig rolled his eyes, then he screamed until his face turned a violent shade of red, leaving Craig astonished. He’s never seen someone so angry like they were trying to release years worth of emotions all at once.

There was no way he could mimic that.

“You try,” he said hoarsely, taking another sip from the bottle.

On the inside, Craig wanted to scream until he no longer had a voice; he wanted to punch a wall; he wanted someone to hate. All day he had been convincing himself he should hate the Asian girls for their perverted artwork, that he should hate himself for caring about those around them. They would have pulled themselves out from their funk. His back straightens. He didn’t hate Tweek. He wanted him to be happy.

“It’s late,” he said, the sun nearly set with the moon taking its place. He saw the twinkling stars in the sky, “I don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

“There’s no one around us-“

“I think I’ll take that sip now,” Craig interrupted, holding his hand out for the bottle to be placed in his palm.

Yeah, Stan whispered, yeah, sure.

Then, like a flash of lightning, the bottle was hurled across the field, landing between two unused rail tracks, “what the hell?!” Stan yelled, knowing damn well that was one of his last few bottles until he could snag another one.

Craig was unfazed by the other boy's anger. When he finally looked up at him, his eyes were rimmed with red.

“Yeah," he said, "it does feel good to scream.”

 

...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and Comments are greatly appreciated! Shoot me a message on my tumblr if you have any questions. Thank you again xoxo.


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